


Raven's Waltz

by johnshuaa



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Birds, Dark, Dark Fantasy, Dreams and Nightmares, High Fantasy, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Magic, Minor Character Death, Rating May Change, Royalty, War, Wings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-09
Updated: 2021-01-19
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:02:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28303509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/johnshuaa/pseuds/johnshuaa
Summary: Jaemin’s dreams are filled with darkness, the shadow of an angel, and a starlight goddess.Nothing about this makes sense. He is as human as it comes, an actor trying to stake his place in the film industry. He wakes up, eats, works, and sleeps, rinse and repeat, like any other person does. And he's fine with that normalcy.However, that's all shattered when he meets Lee Jeno, claiming the wildest things about Jaemin’s dreams, seemingly knowing why he wakes up every morning with unforgettable, bittersweet emotions and the sense of weightless falling in the pit of his stomach.The goddess had said to trust the dark angel. Jaemin isn’t religious, but he believes her words, and lets Jeno push him over the edge into another world, where the line between good and evil, light and dark, is blurred to the point that Jaemin doesn’t know where he stands.
Relationships: Lee Jeno/Na Jaemin
Comments: 10
Kudos: 20
Collections: NCTV Secret Santa 2020





	1. oneiroi

**Author's Note:**

  * For [new_crackhead_talent](https://archiveofourown.org/users/new_crackhead_talent/gifts).



> So at first this wasn't going to be a full-blown chaptered fic but then I got carried away with the world-building and let's just say... the finish line is at least the very least 50k away. But I'm quite in love with what I have planned, so we'll get there eventually!
> 
> Inspiration drawn from Tim Burton's Alice in Wonderland, Howl's Moving Castle, and Swan Lake (the ballet).

Act 1: Adagio

_Is there truly a divide in good and evil, in dark and light, in black and white? After all, demons are only fallen angels._

At the end of the darkness, there is a light, stark and sharp, emitting pinpoint prickles across his skin, not yet deep enough to strike bone. A fog surrounds him, thick and heavy, pressing down on his shoulders like a weighted blanket that he struggles to kick off. It’s warm, though, the air compressing him, forcing him to stand and endure the humidity. The water droplets settle on his skin as a reminder that he can still feel.

There’s not much that he can make out; there are some dark silhouettes of things vaguely familiar and things he is unable to distinguish. Tree branches, he can see—sharp and claw-like, opening their palms to him though he would much rather not take hold of them. Shaking hands with the sinister, making deals with the devil, are things to evade. A white moon glows up top that he tries to utilize as a light source, but it is too bright, blurring into the darkness before it casts anything of use onto the lower grounds. 

When Jaemin tries to take a step, the ground becomes tar, sticking to his bare legs as he tries to lift them. Yet, it feels as though the floor is hard, normal ground. He doesn’t sink. 

He looks up again at the white, circular glow that may be his saving grace but is truly, utterly nothing. It is a light in the darkness, and that is all it is, yet it gives Jaemin some sort of irrational hope to latch onto as he takes another step through the tar-like floor. He can tell that he is being dragged further and further into the quicksand ground, but doesn’t feel it; the light is there in the distance, each step bringing him seemingly closer, but the wrench in his gut tells him that he is sinking. 

The darkness is reaching his neck now. His shoulders are covered. He struggles to stay afloat. He tries to kick and flail, to tread the almost-liquid substance. It does not work. His head barely stays above, and he has to tilt his head so far back to keep it from dipping under the tar that he loses sight of the white, that all he sees is pitch-black. 

He’s drowning in a place that he cannot drown in. A paradox that he cannot comprehend as he struggles to survive. It distracts him, though. The tar is a trickster, and it has won.

When Jaemin’s head dips under the liquid, it is surprisingly clear. His head tilted up, he can see the ripples that his arms make as he tries to stroke through the thick, to bring himself back to the surface. He doesn’t know how, but he can make out just where the tar would break into the air.

Sinking. A sensation in the gut that he’s falling in slow motion, heart pounding too fast, as if it can lift Jaemin through the liquid the faster it beats against his chest. It threatens to break through his ribcage in an attempt to save him. 

And then there’s a figure, right above him, the shape of a head, neck, shoulders, torso, a human. Almost. There are a set of large, feathered wings framing the silhouette. Like a guardian angel.

This is a good way to go, to fall into the black with an angel overlooking his demise. So he closes his eyes, lets the tar pull him into death’s warm embrace, waits for the gentle kiss it will place on his forehead.

When he wakes up, he’s left with the lingering memory of a cryptic dream and bittersweet emotions, the angel plaguing his mind, the darkness remedying it. 

  
—

The whiskey in his hand is too warm. There’s no satisfying burn to it when he takes a sip—it’s just warm and gross. He supposes that’s what he gets for going to a seedy bar at the edge of the city that no one visits.

A finger along the edge of the glass, eyes glance up at the soccer game rerun that nobody is paying attention to, then tingling liquor down his throat. Rinse and repeat. A monotonous cycle, but a much-needed one. Too much rich and fancy does weird things to the brain, after all.

He signals the bartender to refill his glass even though he would rather retch than drink the watered-down alcohol for the next hour. It’s dim enough all around that Jaemin can just keep his chin tilted down, letting his hair keep his part of his face hidden from anyone too close, as to not be noticed.

That would be bad. Being found in a shitty bar with questionable patrons and horrible ownership on a night prior to a major work event would be bad. Having that revealed on tabloids, pale face, dark eyebags, hidden under a hoodie, taken by the flash of paparazzi, would do even worse to him.

Not that he cared too much. Too many years under the limelight makes him want to break away from the persona he’s so carefully carved for himself by giving up almost every milestone of his teenage years to keep the good image. How much it’s worth, Jaemin honestly doesn’t know. 

Mark would say it’s one of the most valuable parts of his career. No one has kept such a pristine record, not as Jaemin had. Most kids like him grow up to fall under the influence, trickle away from popularity as they try to recover for the sake of their lives. He has his parents to thank, partially, for his career now, nurturing him into perfection.

Another sip of the whiskey, one that has Jaemin wincing. He could probably drink back at home, alone in a much cleaner, well-lit room, splayed lazily across his thousand-dollar couch as some show runs on the TV. But that brings a sense of loneliness that Jaemin despises. A dingy bar for a few hours is worth it, if he can get away from that feeling. 

Someone orders a drink next to him that he doesn’t pay too much mind to.

Instead, he acts on reflex, turning slightly on the squeaky barstool in favor of looking towards the empty booths off in the corner that haven’t been cleaned yet, half-finished glasses and plates scattered across the surface. Jaemin cringes internally.

When he spins back, he realizes that whoever ordered had chosen the seat next to him. There were approximately twenty other open spots all across the lounge. Jaemin ticks in mild irritation.

He hears the clink of glass against wood when the bartender finishes making the drink, placing it down in front of the other guest. Jaemin should really be getting home soon. Mark will slaughter him if he gets to work late, or hungover. Or both. Not that the few portions of whiskey he downed would be enough to cause too much pain the next morning.

“So what is someone like you doing out here so late?”

Jaemin, tongue-in-cheek, sighs to himself. Avoid confrontation. That’s the only reason he would come out this far for a drink. 

“Drinking my days away,” Jaemin remarks. His hand around the cup tightens.

A laugh that makes Jaemin’s chest clench. It’s such a familiar sound. Does he know this person?

Curiosity gets the best of him, and fuck the whole hiding his identity thing, it’s one person. He can afford the risk. Mark would say otherwise. Jaemin indeed has his career on the line, but some innate part of him commands to give in to the magnetic pull. 

“You won’t be losing too many of those days if you were banking on the alcohol itself.”

The bartender had disappeared to the back kitchen at some point, and the only patrons left in the dingy lounge are the two of them. There’s only the sound of static narration of the sports game rerun, with the slow-spinning fan on the ceiling that seems to be wasting more energy than what it’s worth.

The man sitting by Jaemin is smiling, an infectious smile, with his eyes forming cute crescents despite how mature the rest of him looks. His hair is dark, unstyled as it lays across his forehead. He’s wearing a suit, the tie is loosened and the top two buttons undone, like he had just left from an office job earlier that afternoon. The cut of the suit to his body informs Jaemin that it must be a rather high-paying office job. 

He’s handsome. Unnaturally so.

“I suppose you’re right.” Jaemin takes another sip nonetheless.

“There are a million other bars to go to,” the man muses, turning on the stool so that his back is to the bar instead. He leans his body on his elbows against the surface, an open stance. Jaemin is surprised he would let his guard down like that here, of all places, with someone who was rather hostile just a minute ago. “Why here?”

Jaemin stares for a split second, trying to read the stranger like he does with everyone he meets. It’s a safety precaution that he’s established for himself over the years in the industry. 

The man seems to be genuinely curious, but Jaemin can hear the purposeful tone seeping into his voice, even though he tries to keep it hidden.

“Are you here to investigate me?” Jaemin proclaims. “Are you getting paid?”

The man furrows his brows. “Why would I do that?”

Perhaps Jaemin is reading too far into this. It never hurts to be cautious; he has learned that the hard way, years ago. But maybe, just maybe, the person in front of him is not as ill-intent as most humans are. 

Jaemin decides to give in, just for tonight. The alcohol he’s consumed within the past two hours had loosened him up. He turns, crosses his legs, and leans his side against the bar as well. “I’m Jaemin,” he introduces, offering a hand to shake.

The man takes it. His hand is cold. “Jeno. Lee Jeno.”

  
—

When Jaemin tries to dip his fingers into the thick oil, it doesn’t stick. Kneeling at the edge of the pool, he cups a hand and submerges it into the liquid. Oddly, he can see his hand despite the darkness. He flexes his hand, then pulls it up. He had thought it would act like tar, latch onto his skin like a glove. It drips right off like water would on rubber. 

He tries again. It seems that it truly is just water. 

“I shouldn’t be here,” Jaemin hears someone muttering behind him. He spins as quickly as he can, falling onto his hip, arms bracing the impact. He’s too vulnerable like this, without a proper stance or weapon to defend himself. His heart begins to beat too quickly.

It’s the angel. They are only a silhouette, seemingly close, or perhaps, distant, but massive and godly. Jaemin can’t tell, and either way, as much as he wouldn’t like to admit it, he is scared.

This dreamscape has plagued Jaemin’s mind for several nights now. He can’t seem to leave. No matter how hard he tries to keep himself away, he always returns. He tries to work himself to the bone so he can go home and pass out cold. He tries to drink himself into oblivion. Still, his brain ticks into the wee hours of the morning to create this shadow world that is inescapable.

Jaemin finds himself speechless, unable to ask the burning question on his tongue, _who are you?_ Instead, he crawls backward until his palms dip into the water where the ground becomes the shoreline of the lake. 

The angel doesn't approach him. They are unmoving, all except for their feathery wings and wisps of hair, following the natural flow of the wind. Like a statue, the breath of life billowing past them to give them momentary animation. If Jaemin wasn’t so fearful in this world of darkness, and in turn, its monsters, he would find the scene beautiful.

“Please, leave me be,” the angel says, voice strained, like they’ve been deprived of water for days. “Don’t bring me into this.”

Jaemin jumps back when a crack of lightning shatters overhead, a flash of white that nearly blinds him. He’s deeper in the water, now, submerged to the elbow. Any further, and he might fall in completely.

When he looks in the direction of the being again, the heart-shaped wings are missing. Instead, he sees the arched curve of a sharp beak extending off the head of the figure. Deadly and frightening. 

Jaemin has nowhere else to go. His breathing grows rapid when he notices the figure growing larger. 

Relief is the cold of the ripples brushing his face, his skin, as he lets the lake draw him in, in and down, where somehow, he can breathe even better than when he was on land.

  
—

The coffee in the cup in his hand burns, too hot for the styrofoam container, too low quality for him to enjoy the bitterness. Nonetheless, Jaemin takes a long drink, lets the liquid scorch his throat, lets the rather gnarly taste shake his senses awake. 

“I told you so,” Mark says when Jaemin refuses to take off his sunglasses until they enter the safe confines of his trailer. “You can’t keep drinking on work nights and expect to be okay in a few hours.”

Another sip. Maybe the taste of the coffee can shake the lingering hangover out of his body. Jaemin chooses to ignore Mark in favor of placing his things down at the vanity and proceeding to collapse onto the rather musty couch at the end of the narrow room.

“I’m serious about sending you to a rehab center, at this point. Your parents aren’t going to be happy if they find out through the tabloids that their son is an addict—”

“Shut the fuck up, Mark Lee.”

“The paparazzi have your pictures, even though you went all the way out of town.” Mark shows Jaemin the screen of his phone, and indeed, in the blurry photos is a figure that looks vaguely like him, wearing the lackluster outfit that he had on the night before.

“Fucking sue them. I don’t care.” Jaemin’s words are muffled by a pillow. If it’s silent enough, he might be able to fall asleep. Johnny won’t be too happy, though. It’ll set his entire schedule off, and the production team was already pissed off the last time they stayed extra hours when one of Jaemin’s co-stars was a no-show. 

Jaemin knows his self-destructive nature needs to be cleaned up by the time he has to start showing his face at red-carpet events and interviews again. He’s not known as a teenage heartthrob amongst his fans without reason. The tabloids’ favorite word to describe him: _sweetheart_. It makes Jaemin want to throw up every time that word shows up in blocky, bright yellow font on the front of magazines. 

Mark seems to feel the change in atmosphere, because he places a placating hand on Jaemin’s shoulder and gives a slight squeeze. “I’ll take care of it, don’t worry. Just… get yourself together before Ten comes, okay?”

Jaemin relaxes slightly. Mark is one of the few people who has always proven himself reliable. It’s a steady constant that Jaemin’s kind of lifestyle needs in order to keep grounded.

After some rolling around on the sofa to wake himself up, finishing up his crappy coffee, and settling in front of the vanity after Ten comes barging in without so much as of a _good morning_ , Jaemin’s hair and make-up are done. As always, Ten complains about how Jaemin’s skin could be much better if he slept a proper amount, and if he would quit drinking the set-provided instant coffee, but Jaemin could care less. He mumbles a quick thanks before heading out of the trailer.

A couple of hours of filming pass without much extra thought. Jaemin works his way through the headaches as he usually does. Johnny seems happy with what they captured, Jaehyun never notices that Jaemin is in pain even as they film an action-heavy scene, and everyone is content. That’ll do. Maybe Jaemin will reward himself by popping open a bottle of wine later.

As Jaemin is about to head back to the trailer and call it a day, his attention is drawn to another set that’s in action. It takes up a rather large part of the lot, with the massive props placed across the concrete in a measured pattern. There is a large group of people scattered across the lot, all in costume. Most of them seem to be minding their own business, shuffling through movements in their own bubbles as the crew gets ready to film.

The dancers. Jaemin doesn’t get the chance to work with them in any scenes, and he’s rather glad, because he would probably get in the way. 

Rather magnificent creatures, they are, to be able to create such beautiful images and emotions with simple human limbs. Usually, Jaemin wouldn’t be so entranced by the filming process of others when he clearly intends to head home and rest the consequences of the previous night off, but his eyes catch onto someone too familiar for him to just move on. Dark hair, a figure that Jaemin shouldn’t be able to recall so easily, yet does.

Jeno’s in the center of the set, in a loose, white muscle tank and black leggings. He places a foot onto the platform he’s next to, testing its strength, before stepping onto it fully. He twists the ball of his foot against the floor to get a feel for the grip.

The filming begins, and the pre-recorded music blasts through the speakers. The dancers animate one by one as the cameras draw close to them. It’s rehearsed, and even still, there’s a breath of fresh air to the way they dance, like a perfectly cohesive improv piece. In the midst, Jeno also begins his part of the routine, movements fluid and featherlight.

He moves like he’s flying, mimicking the most delicate butterflies; an angled flick of the wrist like the gentlest flutter of the wing, the honed-style like the unique painted patterns of its back. Meticulous, with a natural rawness to it.

Jaemin feels like he can almost see into Jeno’s soul through those movements. How and why bares his heart out like this in the most vulnerable ways, Jaemin will never understand. It seems dangerous to expose himself so willingly. 

Still, he’s entranced by the dance, pausing a short distance away as he watches the ensemble move. Jaemin is not a particular appreciator of this art, but it is hard to look away. 

It all comes to an end too quickly. Jaemin shakes himself out of his stupor. He shouldn’t be here. It would be better if—

“Na Jaemin. Fancy seeing you here.”

“I would say the same for you.”

Jeno cracks open his bottled water and takes a long sip. Jaemin can see the sheen of sweat gathered on his forehead, hair pushed back with how many times he’s run his fingers through it. 

Maybe Jaemin isn’t as good at reading people as he thought. He had never expected Jeno to have been a dancer, much less one working in the same project as him. It catches him off-guard, and he doesn’t like that.

“So. How have things been?”

Jaemin scoffs. “Since the last time we met? I had a nice sleep and a massive hangover, if that’s what you’d like to hear.”

“I told you not to drink so much, but you didn’t listen.”

“I’m a grown adult, Jeno,” Jaemin says with a hint of venom on his tongue that had somehow managed to slip through. “I think I know how much liquor I can handle.”

Jeno either didn’t notice, or chooses not to. “Good. Then perhaps abide by it.”

Touché.

“I didn’t know you worked in film too,” Jaemin says instead. “You don’t seem like the type.”

This time, Jeno smiles a little. “I normally don’t. I’m more of a live performer, but they hired my company to dance for this film, and it’s big money. Couldn’t pass it down if I tried.”

Jaemin hums in agreement. “You look good out there. I haven’t seen someone dance like you before.”

“Thanks.” Jeno takes another long drink before he screws the cap back onto the bottle. “I wanted to ask, what was someone like you doing out drinking in a bar in the middle of nowhere on a weekday?”

 _Someone like you_. Jaemin supposes the phrase is a good thing. It means that he is upheld to some kind of standard, which means he’s presented himself in a way to have created that standard in the first place. That’s what he’s been taught to do. Make a name for yourself, make sure it’s perfectly polished and untainted, and keep it that way.

Jaemin is good, a role model. The media love him for it. They love making him into an example of a successful child star all grown up. Paste on that perfect, shiny smile, and it’ll all be okay. 

For someone he thought he genuinely connected with for a few hours in one night, Jeno has surely shattered that perception with those few words.

“Are we still on that topic?” Jaemin raises his eyebrows. “Maybe I just wanted to pay a small business a visit.”

Jaemin is good at lying. It comes from all the years of acting. But he can tell that Jeno is incredulous. 

Jeno puts his arms up in surrender. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to push.”

Jaemin nods with a quiet, “it’s alright,” before he bids for Jeno to follow as they head in the direction of Jaemin’s trailer. It’s getting late, but luckily enough, his call time tomorrow is in the afternoon, so he’ll have plenty of time to rest. 

They make some small talk as they walk, nothing about any information worth remembering, a little artificial and distant. The thing is, meeting Jeno outside of _this_ world, where Jaemin is the actor, the tabloid’s favorite heartthrob, lets Jaemin be no more than a man with a name shared with a celebrity. Out there, there’s no need to pretend because out there, people are allowed to have flaws, _Jaemin_ is allowed to have flaws. 

Jeno’s first impression wasn’t of the media’s Jaemin, it was Jaemin’s own version of himself, even if that version is a little misled and frosty with a smile that doesn’t quite shine under the dull lights of the crappy bar. 

But when they reach the door of the trailer, and Jaemin is about to bid Jeno goodbye for what he decided would be the last time because this short friendship isn’t something he wants to take the time to develop, Jeno says, “I don’t believe you’re who everyone says you are, Na Jaemin.”

Jaemin’s hand is on the doorknob already, but he freezes. “I’m not perfect, I know that, Jeno.”

“You don’t need to play that act all the time.” Jeno’s face is rather determined, seemingly motivated to crack Jaemin apart. It puts him on the defensive again. “I’m no fool. Whatever image you’re trying to uphold, there’s no need to. We’re all people like you. There’s no reason to pretend when it’s so easy to see through it.”

Jaemin opens the trailer door and puts his foot on the first step. He looks over his shoulder and stares at Jeno for a moment. Something about him made him look trustable, the way he’s so adamant on his beliefs, yet so blunt that it makes Jaemin want to shut the door in his face. 

“If you’re someone actually worth showing my so-called true colors to, then you’ll have to prove it, won’t you?” Jaemin says. “Otherwise, it doesn’t matter to me if you can see through whatever it is you see through. Have a good night, Jeno.”

Then Jaemin closes the door, locks himself in where he's alone, safe, and left breathlessly unsettled.

  
—

His legs are on either side of the branch, sitting on it like the saddle of a horse. He had somehow just shown up in that position when his consciousness melted into the dreamscape. His hands hold onto the rough bark of the tree to keep balance. The thinner branches, bare and sharp, curl around him in a cage of both protection and trapping. 

He wonders if this is the new norm now. There hasn’t been a night when he hadn’t been in this realm since the first one. There’s something new in each dream, but only recently had another being, one who spoke, shown up. 

From his spot on the tree, he notices the angel strolling along the edge of the lake. They move with purpose, quick and intent, like they’re searching for something. The angel picks up a rock, reeling their arm back to skip the thin mass across the lake. 

Jaemin gets distracted, however, when the golden stars of the sky fall for a temporary visit. The glowing dots dance along the branches of the tree, streaking past each other excitedly. The stars circle the larger branches until they follow the length of the dark wood to where Jaemin is.

It seems safe enough. Jaemin lets the golden specks orbit his arms, head, shoulders. It’s almost magical, in a sweet, nostalgic way. 

“We are awaiting you,” a powerful voice echoes from the starlights echoes. A young woman’s voice, that booms and strikes Jaemin’s core

“What do you mean?” Jaemin asks quietly to the largest star near his fingertips.

“The world you come from is in trouble. You are their only hope.” The stars begin to move in formation, lights that blur so bright that Jaemin has to cover his eyes. 

Eventually, Jaemin is able to see again, though the back of his eyes burns. This pit of his stomach falls when he looks down to see that he’s no longer near the ground, the tree having grown several yards in a matter of seconds. And in front of him, perched at the very end of the branch, the golden stars outline the shape of a woman. She sits gently on the thin wood, her profile made of twinkling dots and lines that fade in and out.

“What _world?_ ” Jaemin nearly scoffs, but thinks better than to offend the godly creature before him. “This is just a dream, isn’t it?”

“This is to guide you, my raven. You must return to your natural home soon.”

“I don’t think I understand.”

Somehow, the stars form a smile on the goddess’s face. She points a dainty finger down at the angel, who has become a dot with how far up in the air Jaemin is now. “He will be the one to bring you there. You can trust him.”

Jaemin almost wants to laugh. Leave it to these wild dreams that are far too detailed to only be dreams, for a goddess made of stars and gold to tell him, of all people, to trust the freakish creature that has never said a word to him in this dark world. 

“I don’t even know who he is.”

The goddess hums but doesn’t answer. Instead, the gold speckles leave their formation. They hover towards Jaemin in a cloud, and before he can comprehend, they form a hand that shoves against his shoulder.

He loses his purchase on the tree and hurtles downward indefinitely.

  
—

Jeno, does in fact, nearly win Jaemin over.

He has a pureness to him that always makes Jaemin think that nothing he could do will ever be malevolent. It should be impossible for him to exist in this sense. Nothing can live without its counteracting force. If Jeno were only sweet, thoughtful, full of heart-warming eye-smiles and love for those around him, then he must be hiding something truly dark and sinister.

They are more alike than Jaemin thought they ever could be.

When they talk, Jeno is a comfort, never judging, only observing. He wants to know Jaemin, fully know him. He wants past the artificial, vacuum-sealed plastic covering that keeps Jaemin clean and pristine. It makes Jaemin feel a bit more in tune with himself, if not to share some of the more intimate facts about himself, then to keep them locked away. 

In a few short days, a few short run-ins, Jaemin considers Jeno to be closer than most people he’s known for years. A rather incredible feat. A few more days and meetings outside the work setting, and they might know each other better than Mark and Jaemin.

But still, there’s something about Jeno that Jaemin can’t trust. One of them includes how closely he resembles the angelic figure from his dreams.

“Mark, can you book me an appointment for a psychiatrist?”

Mark frowns. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” Jaemin runs a hand through his hair, pursing his lips. “It’s just been an odd couple of days.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

The driver had dropped them off at a little cafe for lunch, to return in a few hours to bring them to set. It’s not a particularly obscure shop, so Jaemin is cautious, working in measured movements. He and Mark settle in the corner booth, though it doesn’t really offer any coverage from onlookers.

In truth, Jaemin would like to tell someone about those enigmatic dreams, but how on earth is he supposed to convey to someone, seriously, his worries about a world that probably just emerged from some faint memory of a horror movie? 

“I’ve just been having trouble sleeping.” Jaemin sips on his coffee, an order that Mark has always nagged him about— _too many shots of espresso, does it even taste like anything?_ “Dreams are a bit too vivid for my brain to calm down.”

Mark furrows his eyebrows. He seems to be in deep thought. “This sounds serious.”

“It really isn’t.” Jaemin notices a couple of giggling girls with their phones tilted at him over Mark’s shoulders. He offers a small wave. “I just want some kind of yoga regiment or something that will help, you know?”

“It could be something that requires actual attention. You should take this a bit more seriously,” Mark says. “What did you see in them?”

Jaemin frowns. Mark has never really pried into personal things like this. That’s why Jaemin learned to trust his manager; Mark knew when to keep his distance. At least, he usually does.

“It’s honestly nothing,” Jaemin says. “If it’s anything to worry about, I’ll tell you. _After_ the appointment.”

“Jaemin—”

“We have to go. The car is around the corner.”

Mark doesn’t interject again, but he does give Jaemin odd glances. It doesn’t matter. He’ll get over it, Jaemin with the dreams, Mark with his newfound persistence. 

—

“Hey.” Jeno places a placating and on Jaemin’s forearm that he’s too tired to shake off. “You okay?”

Jaemin squeezes at the spot between his eyebrows with his forefingers to try and alleviate the tension there. “Yeah. Just had a bad night’s sleep, I guess.”

Jeno looks at him as if he understands just what exactly is causing the stress, in perfect detail, even more so than Jaemin. It’s a look that is gone just as quickly.

“I’ll be fine with a nap, probably. As long as Johnny doesn’t come check-in in the next hour…”

Jeno cracks a smile. “We can keep him distracted for a bit.”

“That’ll be great.” Jaemin crashes onto the couch, pulling a comforter over his lap. Mark had disappeared to run some other errands, so until some of the other staff come in to get Jaemin ready, he’s free to his own devices. 

“I did have something I wanted to ask you about, though I’m guessing the answer is no, now.”

This makes Jaemin’s ears perk.

Jeno scratches at the back of his neck, his face dusting red. Cute.

“Some of the dancers and I were planning to go out tonight. To celebrate, I guess.”

“Oh. Fun.”

“But since you aren’t feeling well, I don’t know if it’ll be in your best interest if you joined us…”

Jaemin cracks a smile at how nervous Jeno looks. “Would you like me to come?”

“Not if you’re feeling under the weather—” Jeno notices the look on Jaemin’s face, a raised brow, challenging, almost. “Yes.”

Jaemin doesn’t know how long it’s been since he went out with his own friends properly. Typically, he refrains from that kind of interaction, just in case unknown things happen that mess up Jaemin’s calculated steps. 

But again, there’s that magnetic pull from Jeno that Jaemin can’t help but give into.

“Sounds nice. I’ll be there.”

Jeno’s smile doesn’t fail to take Jaemin’s breath away.

  
—

Jaemin has Mark on speed dial as he gets into the back of the car. As the ringer goes, he quickly relays the address of the club to the driver, right as Mark picks up.

“Hello?”

“What is it, Jaemin?” Mark sounds exasperated, as he is most of the time when dealing with Jaemin.

“Cancel my plans for the rest of the night. And tomorrow morning, probably.”

“Excuse me, _what?_ ”

Jaemin laughs to himself. “I know you heard me the first time.”

“What could possibly be so important for you that I have to cancel a major, and might I add, _incredible career-boosting_ interview about your new project? You know that people are already skeptical about this role, and we need to reassure them—”

“And rescheduling is always an option,” Jaemin muses. “That’s what I’m paying you to do, am I not?”

“Answer my question, and then I’ll consider.”

The car heads into the nighttime city traffic. “I’m meeting someone.”

“Seriously? Right now? Do you really need dating rumors around you when this could make or break your career?”

“Oh hush, Mark. It’s always about my career with you. Don’t you have other things to worry about?”

Mark goes silent for a moment, and it worries Jaemin, slightly. But then his manager goes off rambling again in his usual manner. “Your ability to keep a job is synonymous with mine. I’m serious though, who the fuck are you meeting— _oh_.”

“Smart man you are, Mark Lee.”

Jaemin watches the city lights flash by him as the car drives across the bridge to the city center. Pretty, orange-yellow streetlights turn into boxy skyscrapers. He quite loves the night, eating the world and spitting twinkling lights out. 

“He’s not good publicity… He has a lot of bad scandals he’s gotten into—” Mark splutters. 

“More the reason to get to know him, hm?”

“What, no—”

“Mark Lee,” Jaemin says. “Aren’t you the one to always tell me that there’s no such thing as bad publicity?”

A huff of annoyance. That’s a victory for Jaemin, yet again.

“You know that’s not what I meant.”

“I’m going to go out and have fun tonight, Mark. Don’t bother calling me. I won’t pick up.”

“I’m worried you’re going to get into something bigger than you.”

“I’m just going to the club, not a fucking gang meet-up.”

Mark sighs. “It’s not that simple.”

“Care to explain?”

It’s easy to corner Mark. Quite fun for Jaemin, honestly.

“Whatever. Please, just be careful. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

Jaemin hums in response before ending the call. He returns to watching the lights pass by the window, blinking gold jewelry on the city’s navy blue neckline. 

  
—

It’s hard to miss Jeno and his friends despite how crowded the room is.

The music reverberates through Jaemin’s body, the bass so heavy that it travels through his blood in ripples. He’s not unfamiliar with clubs like these, though it has surely been a while since he’s been to one.

Jaemin joins Jeno at their booth, hidden away in the corner where the speaker doesn’t make him feel like he might explode. 

Jeno greets him with a hug, still laughing at something one of his friends had said. “Glad you could make it,” he utters as he pulls away, and Jaemin can’t help but wonder if this boldness comes from the rounds of drinks they have already gone through evident in the empty cups on the table.

Jeno introduces his friends, and their names go in one ear and out the other. Jaemin downs a couple of drinks and lets himself loose. He’s here for a good time, not a long time.

At some point in the night, they move to the dance floor, and most of them meld into crowds, colors blended right into the palette. But Jeno is the black pigment that’s visible no matter how it’s mixed into the others. Jaemin can’t lose sight of him if he tries.

Before he knows it, with the music thrumming through his body, sweat clinging onto his skin from the humidity of the crowd, energy thriving as they reach the early am, Jaemin is holding onto Jeno, hands all over, fueled by the heat of the night. His arms hook around Jeno’s neck, forehead against his shoulder, trying his damn best to pull him closer. Jeno is magnetic and irresistible. 

Jaemin knows that this is risky. Too many things are on the line by him just being here, not to mention how he’s tangled himself with another boy, obscenely pressing their bodies as close together as possible, in a way that you can easily tell where things are about to go. But Jaemin can’t help it. Playing it safe is no fun. 

That’s why his mouth is on Jeno’s neck, nibbling at the skin there, trailing sloppy kisses up the expanse until he’s kissing Jeno like there’s no tomorrow in the midst of overheated bodies with a bad music mix blasting in the background. That’s why he whispers, _can I bring you home?_ into Jeno’s ear, already knowing the answer, before dragging him out of the club and to a car that he had called up. That’s why he goes through with it, fervently stripping each other down in earnest in the dead of night, still high off the energy of the club and alcohol, as Jaemin finds pleasure in the littlest things that Jeno does to his body. He hasn’t been touched like this in forever. 

Perhaps it’s time to let go of that stainless image and drag it through the mud himself to keep sane and safe.

  
—

For the first time in weeks, Jaemin wakes up without the flashing, head-dizzying remnants of an indiscernible dream. It’s a relief, because the lack of proper sleep had been catching up to him. Ten was struggling to cover up the deepening lines under his eyes.

The spot next to him is cold, blankets thrown back in a hurry, it seems. Jaemin rubs the sleep out of his eyes. Evidence of the night before is scattered all across the floor, a mess that Jaemin is going to have to embarrassingly clean up in case Mark decides to barge into his house to drag him out of bed for some schedule he completely forgot about again.

Jaemin finds himself some pajama pants before trekking out of his bedroom groggily. A quick look out his window tells him that it’s well into the morning. Chances are, he’s missing something important that he couldn’t care less about. 

To his surprise, Jeno is in the kitchen on what seems like a serious call. His back is to Jaemin, leaning against the island’s marble countertop, a hand braced against the edge. 

It takes another minute of staring for Jaemin to realize that he’s stolen one of Jaemin’s old shirts to wear. He watches the way Jeno's forearm strains when his grip on the counter tightens. Jaemin’s face heats up remembering the way those arms had dragged down his bare torso just hours earlier.

Jeno is different, but in a good way, Jaemin finally deems. He’s not the type to leave Jaemin in the dust like past flings. He’s already stayed into the morning without seeing himself out. 

When Jeno turns, he catches Jaemin’s conspicuous staring and smiles sweetly in a way that overlooks everything that happened the night prior, like Jeno was an old friend wandering in to invite Jaemin out to lunch. 

Jaemin doesn’t mind it. Not at all.

“Alright, I’ll see you later,” Jeno finishes, then hangs up. He places his phone face down on the counter, focus designated to Jaemin. “Hey.”

“Hey.” Jaemin does a once-over when Jeno steps out from behind the island into full view. “Nice outfit.”

Jeno smiles sheepishly, glancing down at his borrowed shirt and pants. “I hope you don’t mind.”

“Not at all.” 

They stare at each other for a moment, before Jaemin promptly cuts eye contact. Shyness isn’t something he’s often overwhelmed with. Something about Jeno reverts him to a younger, less experienced, less confident version of himself that honestly, he doesn’t like very much. 

Jeno’s finger drums against the counter. It shouldn’t be this awkward. Maybe Jaemin would have preferred for Jeno to have left early in the morning. 

“I do have to get going soon,” Jeno ends up interrupting, which Jaemin is pretty glad for, because one more moment of the unbearable silence, and he might have stepped forward, latched his arm around Jeno’s neck, and pulled him back to the bedroom. “I have rehearsals in a bit to deal with.”

“Oh. Alright.”

“Also, no need to worry about your schedule for the rest of the day. You’re probably tired,” Jeno says, heading in the direction of the bedroom. He first pauses by Jaemin, a hand falling to his waist to hold it comfortingly. Jaemin goes a little red at the implication of Jeno’s words. “I checked with your manager about clearing the rest of the day for you. Take a break.”

_Jeno talked to Mark?_

“Thanks.”

Jeno squeezes Jaemin’s hip before passing him. “Yesterday was fun. We should do it again sometime.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

In the next hour, Jaemin settles at the kitchen island, where Jeno cooks them breakfast, and they talk some more. It feels too domestic, and knowing that this isn’t a one-time thing both excites and scares Jaemin beyond comparison. 

Soon, Jeno changes out of the borrowed clothes and back to the outfit he had worn to the club (which Jaemin thinks is too debaucherous to wear out in broad daylight, and had offered some of his own clothes that Jeno declined). With a chaste kiss to Jaemin’s lips, he’s out the door.

Jaemin stares at the hallway for a minute, a hint of a smile halfway on his face. He can get used to this. He’d like to.

  
—

When Jaemin gets to set, he can easily tell that something is off.

The past few days have been normal; the sun was bright, everyone was in a good mood, and they were on schedule. However, the moment he arrives, he notices how gray everything is, the way people drag themselves across the lot, the way the clouds seem to armor the sky instead of blanket the earth. 

Mark glances up with an unreadable expression on his face. Then, he bids Jaemin goodbye almost immediately, claiming that he had something urgent to check on. He scurries off in the opposite direction, leaving Jaemin to stare at this odd phenomenon.

“Today isn’t looking too great. Maybe we should call off the shoot.” Jaehyun emerges from his own trailer, removing his sunglasses so he can survey the weather.

“Johnny won’t like that,” Jaemin says, pursing his lips. 

“Nobody looks like they want to do anything today,” Jaehyun points out. “Though that’s not the most alarming part, I think.”

“What do you mean?”

Before Jaehyun can respond, they hear a loud crash, followed by several screams. 

Jaemin lets curiosity get the best of him, and he heads in the direction of the sound. A small group of people has gathered, scattered just enough for Jaemin to see the cause of the commotion without weaseling into the crowd.

A bird crash-landed on the concrete, its wings and head tilted in janky directions to prove that it’s most likely dead. Gold blood spills from its injuries.

 _This must be some sort of ill omen_ , he hears someone whisper. _A dead bird?_

Before Jaemin can get any closer, he’s yanked away in the opposite direction.

Jeno’s hold on Jaemin’s bicep is too tight as he drags him off to the side of the building so that they’re hidden away from the majority of the crowd.

“Do you need something?” Jaemin asks, irritated.

Jeno doesn’t reply. He warily glances around. 

When Jaemin looks up to the gray skies, he sees a swirling black mass swiftly veering in through the expanse in controlled chaos, in seemingly random directions, yet never colliding. Birds, hundreds of them. “What the hell is going on?” 

“That’s not important right now,” Jeno waves off. He moves so that he blocks Jaemin’s line of sight of the set. Behind him, Jaemin can hear noises of confusion, worry, fear. 

“What do you mean it’s not important—”

“You need to trust me on this.”

“Jeno, I’m sorry, but we’ve barely known each other for a few weeks, I can’t just trust you out of the blue when it looks like we’re getting attacked by _birds_.”

Jeno purses his lips. “It’s not about that.”

“What could possibly be a more pressing manner—”

“You’ve been having dreams, haven’t you?”

“What dreams?” Jaemin spits. “I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”

“It’s dark, isn’t it?” Jeno’s eyes are wide, pleading for Jaemin to take the time to listen, understand, and concede. “There’s nothing, it’s all pitch-black and you don’t know where you go. You feel like you’re drowning.”

Jaemin’s mouth goes dry.

“That’s what my home is like, right now. It’s been like that for years now. We need you.”

“What—”

Jeno grasps tightly onto Jaemin’s arm. “I just need you to trust me. Come with me. Please.”

The starlight had said to trust the angel. 

There’s yelling in the background, and when Jaemin glances up again, he notices that the dark clouds have diminished to a few fluttering specks, before realizing that it’s because the rest have dived downwards. They sweep across the area at eye level, cawing relentlessly. 

“At least tell me where we’re going?” Jaemin has to shout over the noise around them. Some people are sprinting away to get cover, others have grabbed the nearest object to swing over their heads in an attempt to keep the birds from approaching them. “This is dangerous, we have to take cover!”

The wind is picking up, making Jaemin’s jacket slap against him almost painfully. Jeno’s dark hair flies in all directions, but he remains, clutching onto Jaemin’s forearm with a vice-like grip. “Jaemin, please.”

“What do you _need?_ ” Jaemin seethes, ready to yank his arm out of Jeno’s old. He needs to find safety.

“Jaemin! What are you doing?”

He looks over Jeno’s shoulder to find Mark, stance wide to keep himself rooted against the wind. It’s like a tornado is forming, spiraling faster by the second. Mark steps towards them and extends a hand. “Let’s get back to the trailer. Now!”

Jaemin glances back at Jeno. He’s so preoccupied with the two that he barely realizes that the birds have swarmed next to them, flying in the direction of the wind in a circular motion. The flapping of wings becomes too loud to bear. Jaemin wants to slap his hands over his ears.

“I’m so sorry,” Jeno says. It seems genuine, but what does Jaemin know. Before he can move, Jeno shoves his arm against Jaemin’s chest.

Jaemin loses his balance and stumbles back a couple of steps. He doesn’t get the chance to right himself before the wind carries him, pushes him back. He can feel the wings brush against his shoulders as he falls into the flock of ravens. 

He hears Mark yell something, but it gets lost in the darkness that consumes Jaemin’s vision. The gray skies, the tan buildings, Jeno, Mark, they all fade into the black. He never hits the ground.

He falls and falls, and it feels like weightless drowning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> find me on  
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/johnshuaa)  
> [curious cat](https://curiouscat.me/johnshuaa)


	2. up from here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You’re the one from the High Goddess’ prophecy. It’s not chance. It’s fate.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the chapter lengths are going to be so random haha but enjoy this chapter :D

The air has been vacuumed from the atmosphere until there’s a pressure threatening to flatten Jaemin alive—at least, that’s what it feels like—like his ribs will collapse in on themselves, no longer a protective cage but a weapon to spear his own heart. Each time he tries to take a breath, the air rushes right past and away, and _he can’t breathe_.

Falling, falling, falling. Through the darkness and into an oblivion that likely has no ending.

In his dreams, when he’s pushed into the deep waters, he at least has the knowledge that he will wake up and not drown. There, he is weightless, following the ebb and flow as the ripples above blur the only light source of that realm.

Here, there is no light nor guarantee that he’ll make it out alive. This may be what it feels like to be sucked into a black hole.

Jaemin shuts his eyes tight, hair and clothes whipping against his face and body almost painfully as he hurtles downwards. 

And he keeps falling. So quickly that he feels almost suspended in the motion, where the hefty pressure on his body is gone, and he’s being lifted by a string tied around his waist. Disorienting, like the earth is being spun on its axis with the goal of flinging its inhabitants off and into the universe.

That is, until Jaemin feels a pair of arms circle his back, pulling him close to its owner, chest to chest, interlocking their bodies. They dive down headfirst, and fear builds up in Jaemin’s chest. _This is it, this is the end_.

He prepares for the impact that’ll be hard enough to put him out of his misery quickly and easily. However, he’s not prepared to hit ice-cold liquid that scorches his skin, like he can feel every molecule slow its vibration in his body from the stark change in temperature. 

The water pushes him along until his feet presses against solid ground. The arms surround him again, bringing him upright. The feeling of suspension still lingers in his stomach as he tries to orient himself with the familiarity of the floor.

Jaemin finally opens his eyes.

And it hardly makes a difference.

The sky is nearly completely dark, grayish with black patchwork clouds dabbled around. The light from a round white moon reflects off certain spots up there, enough to cast slight shadows and allow silhouettes of objects to contrast its backdrop, barely seeable. He can just about trace the outline of curved hills and square buildings a distance away. He hears the fluttering of wings, like a flock of birds taking off.

He also realizes that he is in Jeno’s arms, grasping his shoulder tightly to keep anchor. They are startlingly close, so much so that Jaemin can feel Jeno’s gentle breaths against his face. Jaemin steps back. He’s not drenched to the core from the water like he thought—bone dry, actually. Odd.

Jeno’s brows are scrunched as he glances back and forth between Jaemin and the inky waters around them. They’re at the end of the stone docks, where the edge leads off into the oil-like body of water surrounding the area. One look, and Jaemin recognizes the nightmare of an ocean to be rather synonymous to the lake in his dreams, dark and ready to latch onto drowners.

A moment passes before Jeno shakes off his confusion. Instead, he gestures around with an arm. “Welcome to my home. The Kingdom of Nyx.”

It takes a moment for Jaemin to register where the dock extends from. The castle, tall and looming, sits in isolation in the midst of the water. Built from cobblestone, brick by brick, framed by two tall towers, it is easily one of the largest and most magnificent works of architecture Jaemin has ever laid eyes on. He’s sure that there’s nothing even remotely _like_ this in the real world. 

“Nyx, you say,” Jaemin repeats, still rather in awe by how tiny he is in comparison to the castle. “Mother of Night.”

Jeno nods. “The King has been awaiting our arrival. We shouldn’t keep him waiting.”

In a matter of minutes—or at least what felt like minutes that could have easily spanned into hours—Jaemin witnessed a crime scene, was transported into his dreamscape without warning, and is now to meet a king, supposedly. He shakes his head and follows Jeno, laughing under his breath. This is absolutely _insane_. His psychiatrist visit is going to an absolute adventure when he wakes up.

They walk up the docks and to the grand entrance that opens for them. The front two metal portcullis gates have to be slowly lifted by medieval cranks from the tower of the outer defense wall, before they can reach the arching double doors of the castle itself.

Jaemin gulps every time he spots a guard dressed in a long leather trench coat, face covered by what Jaemin realizes greatly resembles the plague masks from early human history. Round, glass-paned eyes stitched into a thick fabric that curves into long beaks. At least it only covers half of the guard’s face, revealing a human chin and mouth underneath. It freaks Jaemin out a little, to say the least. He might as well have walked straight onto a horror film set for the day.

The clicking of their heels against the marble floor echoes through the grand hallways. The inside isn’t much brighter in any way, but has some proper lighting from torches and candelabras around every corner. It simply feels like nighttime indoors, whereas the outside is a black well. Nyx. He gets it now.

“I don’t know if you’ve ever met a king before, but there are a few... _precautions_ I’d like to go over first,” Jeno says quietly, but it still reverberates through the halls. He slows his pace and leans in towards Jaemin so he can speak in a whisper. 

“No, I’ve never met a king…” Jaemin replies. This feels like a joke. The goddess from his dreams must be having a hell of a time stitching this new storyline into his mind. _Might as well play along_ , he concludes, if it’ll all be over eventually.

Jeno clears his throat and quickly scans the hall before saying, “He’s a little eccentric. He’s not particularly the type to hold back with what he wants to say. Don’t take anything to heart at first. And it’s best if you don’t talk back. That’s probably a given.”

Jaemin scoffs. He’ll really have to give the goddess a piece of his mind for playing with these illusions. It’s all a bit too realistic for his liking. He could probably sprint outside and jump into the lakes again to wake himself up, remove himself from the dreamscape that had grown a million times more detailed between this and the previous time. 

Soon, they reach another set of large, ornate doors, carved from dark wood and decorated with curled, silver detailing, which push open on their own, revealing a long walkway lined with columns and a rich red carpet laid right down the middle. They quicken their pace as they walk down the aisle towards the platform where there sits a large, shimmering obsidian throne. Its back is jagged, sharp black crystal jutting everywhere like a peacock’s tail feathers.

On that obsidian throne, lay a young man, legs hooked over one armrest, neck perched on the opposite. He picks at a plate of multicolored berries beside him, popping them into his mouth one by one, slowly chewing. 

Upon closer inspection, Jaemin sees that the man has honey-brown hair, which sharply contrasts the dark thistle and thorn crown that lays on his head. He’s in a rather princely outfit of a maroon satin suit, though one sleeve of the jacket had slid off his shoulder as he lounged lazily.

“Your Majesty,” Jeno addresses with a deep bow at the waist, arm across his chest to touch his heart. “The task is complete.”

The King turns his head to greet the new arrivals. A bedazzled eye patch encircles his skull, the patch covering his right eye. However, it doesn’t do much to hide the three scar lines that run under the patch, from his forehead to his cheekbone, still red and disturbed. Jaemin shudders at what might have caused those, but more so at the King’s otherworldly presence. 

The King removes his legs from the armrest, twisting without leaving the seat so that he sits normally. He crosses his legs and leans back casually on the throne. He quirks an eyebrow, singular eye roaming Jaemin from head to toe. An icy blast of fear strikes every part of his body that the King analyzes. He feels bare. 

“This is him?”

The voice is higher and sharper than Jaemin thought it would be. 

Jeno nods. 

“I suppose you’ll have to do.” The King stands, and though he’s not particularly tall or muscular, there is strength in his stance, an air of leadership. The way he smiles hints at the more sinister things that hide under his skin, tempting to break through and wreak havoc. “I thought you’d be more… hero-like.”

Jaemin grits his teeth, tongue in cheek to keep from retorting.

“Welcome to Nyx.” The King saunters down the few steps from the platform, gesturing at Jeno to relieve him from his bow. “This will be your home, for the time being.”

Jaemin almost laughs. “I’m staying here?”

“If the palace is not to your liking, we can surely arrange a room in the stables.”

Their gazes interlock, and for a split second, Jaemin thinks he’ll be burnt to ashes by the ferocity in the King’s single-eyed stare. He can feel Jeno tense next to him, unable to do anything but watch the two interact in ways that can only end with burning wildfire. 

As much as Jaemin’s ego wants to take over, this is not his home turf. He can’t risk anything, even if it’s just a dream. He chews at his lower lip to keep from responding.

The King hums, satisfied. “I would also think that the child of prophecy would be a bit more loyal. Obedient. Their life purpose is based on a single fate, after all.”

Jaemin’s mouth goes dry. “What are you _talking_ about?”

“Jeno, did you not explain this?”

“I didn’t get the chance yet, your Majesty. Celeste had eyes there, too.”

“Did he now…” The King pauses. “He’s crafty. I would not have expected any less.”

“Can someone explain—”

“In due time, Jaemin. For now, just understand that you are very, _very_ valuable to us.”

“Well, if I am, shouldn’t I at least have a mere understanding of what I’m in for?”

The King circles him like a vulture would their prey. Before Jaemin can continue, a sharpened nail pricks the soft underside of his chin, far too talon-like for him to feel comfortable. Impossible, that the man in front of him is as human as he looks.

“You are a _visitor_ in my kingdom, and I will not be disrespected in my own home. You may be key to our victory in the war, but by no means are you to talk back like I owe you _anything_.” 

Jaemin’s blood runs cold at the piercing glare of the King, the single, cognac-hued iris never wavering. If he moves, ever so slightly, the nail would break his skin. So, he stores his pride and confusion away, and remains silent.

The King drops his hand, a smug smirk decorating his lips. “Dove, bring him to his quarters. We’ll have a more informative discussion when he decides to be _civil_.”

Before Jaemin can retaliate, his dampened dignity be damned, Jeno grabs ahold of his wrist, giving it a light tug. 

“Of course,” Jeno says obediently before he’s roughly pulling Jaemin out of the throne room and into the dark halls of the castle again. 

There’s a moment of silence as they walk down a different hall that Jaemin can barely differentiate, before Jeno growls, “What did I _tell_ you?” He drops Jaemin’s wrist too forcefully.

“He was a fucking prick—”

“He’s the King.”

“ _Your_ King.”

“And while you reside here, yours as well. You aren’t in your world anymore. You don’t know the rules and the customs here.”

“I didn’t _want_ to come here.”

“Look, I’m sorry.” They reach a set of stairs at the end of the hall, stone banisters guiding the path in an upward curve into another wing of the castle. At the base of the staircase lay mirroring stone statues of some sort of humanoid creature Jaemin can’t distinguish. “We don’t have much of a choice right now. It’s either we seek you out, or suffer another hundred years of a standstill war.”

Slowly, they trek up the staircase. If Jaemin wasn’t boiling with anger right now, he would take the time to admire the lofty glass ceilings, rows of silver-detailed decor, and magnificent oil paintings. Everything looks to be in pristine condition, but Jaemin can’t help but wonder what it would look like cast in a warm, afternoon sun’s glow. The way everything would glitter with life, to show the antiquities that each brick making up the castle holds. 

“Me, though, of all people? You went to some other world far, far away from here, plucked a boring old human from there, and hope they’ll miraculously solve a _war_?” 

Jeno, a few steps ahead, stops abruptly and spins around. He has the vantage point, a few feet taller, his hand braced against the banister as he glances down at Jaemin. It puts him on edge—though it’s not like Jeno would just push Jaemin down the stairs. Jeno’s his only semblance of familiarity here, and if Jaemin turns away from that now, he’ll have nothing. 

If this is a nightmare, he wishes that his brain would just stop fucking turning and wake him up.

“You’re the one from the High Goddess’ prophecy. It’s not chance. It’s fate.”

Jaemin closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “Well, I don’t believe in fate.”

“You don’t have a choice in that part. It’s been ingrained in your life. You’ll carry through with whatever was prophesied, whether you want to or not.”

And with that, they continue their ascent.

Jaemin is left rather breathless when they get to the top of the grand staircase, only to meet another, a spiral one this time, just a few corridors away. He had tried to memorize bits and pieces of the castle’s mapping, but they’ve passed so many rooms and doorways that he’s lost track by the third turn.

Eventually, they reach the final destination. It’s one of the main towers that Jaemin had seen at the docks, the highest point of the castle. They proceed through a much smaller, but no less decorated set of double doors. 

Inside is a fanciful suite of the highest luxury. Jaemin can tell by the shimmer of the sheet’s satin material. The furniture is all smooth and polished, crafted from one unifying species of wood.

As he takes slow steps into the room, wandering around, he’s met with a vanity against one wall, its mirrors reaching above Jaemin’s standing height.

Peculiar, that when he spots himself, he’s sporting bleach-blonde hair, almost white, when he so clearly remembers being anything but blonde. He twists one of the strands between his fingers before he lets the image go. What catches his eye instead, is the large, gothic-shaped window opposite the entrance. 

There is an ottoman set in front of it, the perfect step stool to the stone sill wide enough to lay on. When he places a hand on the stone, however, it is far colder than he would have imagined. He leans towards it.

The window is completely open. There’s no glass. Jaemin gulps, retreating immediately.

“This is where you’ll be staying,” Jeno states.

“Let me guess. Indefinitely?”

Jaemin turns to see that Jeno has remained at the threshold, leaning on the doorway warily. “I don’t know how you play into any of this, I’ll be honest. And I don’t think Donghyuck really knows, either.”

Jaemin offers an inquisitive cock of the head.

“The King.” Jeno shakes his head. “It’s always been so unclear. We have a way to stop all of this, but it’s a riddle that has been insolvable for so long.”

A loud caw steals Jaemin’s attention, and he glances out of the opening again. In the distance, he spots a flock of birds, in their perfect formation, soar across the black skies. Somehow, they are able to stand out despite being one in the same as their background.

“Is it ever day here?”

Jeno is quiet for a moment, reflective. “We lost that privilege quite a while ago.”

The birds soon disappear out of Jaemin’s line of vision. For most of his life, he would think that those crows, ravens, whatever they were, would be an ill omen. But today, he finds comfort in them—they are creatures from his world. 

“Like I said, the High Goddess gave us a prophecy that can save us from this. She hated the war, and cast us in the darkness and the oil for us to suffer. So here we are.” Jeno sighs. “But that happened decades ago, long before Donghyuck’s reign.”

Jaemin purses his lips and turns away from the window. Perhaps he drank too much the night before, causing these hallucinations. Perhaps it is all just a rumination of his past dreams, molded together to create a larger playground. Perhaps he can just sleep it off, and things will return to normal.

Frustration brews in the pit of his stomach.

“It’s not a dream this time, Jaemin.” Jeno has finally crossed the threshold into the room, but never gets close. “This is what we’ve been doomed in. I never knew light until I went to your realm. You truly are our last hope. I want to see the sun again.”

The heartbreak in Jeno’s tone of voice makes Jaemin’s insides turn, and there’s a mix of pity with the bitterness, churning uncomfortably within him. 

He meets Jeno’s eyes with a hardened stare. “I’m going to rest.”

“Jaemin—”

“I don’t know how you somehow got wrapped up in this, but it’s not real. And I just need to get it out of my mind, and it’ll be fine by tomorrow.” Jaemin stands abruptly from the window and slips off his jacket, laying it on the ottoman. “So if you may, please, leave.”

Jeno relents almost too easily. Jaemin had hoped he’d give at least some semblance of a fight, but the man only slips out of the room without another word. 

He stares at the now empty space with a hint of regret, but not much more. He slips into the soft sheets and tries to let sleep drag him away from this world.

When Jaemin wakes up the following morning, he is still laying under the luxurious blanket, the glass-less window revealing just how far up he is in his tower, and the cruel realization that this is truthfully where he is now. Here, with no definite date of return.

**Author's Note:**

> find me on  
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/johnshuaa)  
> [curious cat](https://curiouscat.me/johnshuaa)


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